


Bound and Broken

by Kalira



Category: Naruto
Genre: (specific sense; not all of them), Bad Parenting, Betrayal, Brothers, Chakra sensing, Crying, Hurt/Comfort, Imprisonment, Indra is Half Uchiha, M/M, Reunions, Sensory Deprivation, Uchiha Indra, Whumptober, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-11-23 08:57:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20889491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalira/pseuds/Kalira
Summary: Tajima has heard disquieting things about his eldest son's wanderings outside of the clan compound, even outside their lands. Worried for what could come of Indra's misplaced trust, he has a plan to keep his son safe - and from defying any attempt to keep him home.He has no idea what he's broken with the bindings he's placed.





	Bound and Broken

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Whumptober](https://whumptober2019.tumblr.com/post/187785964678/whumptober2019-october-approaches-and-so-does), Alternative Prompt 16: Bound

“Father?” Indra dipped his head respectfully as he stepped into Tajima’s study.

“Indra.” Tajima smiled slightly. “Thank you. I need to speak with you about something.”

“Of course.” Indra moved closer, hesitating by the cushion on the other side of Tajima’s desk. It had been a few years, but being here, with his father’s clan, with his _father_, still felt strange and uncertain compared to the familiarity of his mother’s family.

Tajima gestured and he knelt. “I have heard some things . . . _seen_ some things. I have concerns, my son.” Tajima said, and Indra frowned, tilting his head.

“. . .concerns?” Indra repeated cautiously, wishing for his mother’s straightforward manner and then feeling a pang of loss for her blunt, warm words.

Tajima moved out from behind the desk and settled by Indra instead. Indra blinked when he reached out a hand and rested it on Indra’s arm, but smiled. Tajima was not usually terribly demonstrative - though Indra’s brothers had to have gotten it from _somewhere_, and their mother had always seemed rather cool, even in her actions towards them, from Indra’s perspective - but Indra knew his father _did_ care, for all of them.

“You’ve been leaving the safety of the compound, alone. Not on missions.” Tajima said, and Indra blinked, then eyed him.

“I didn’t realise that wasn’t _allowed_.” Indra said, frowning, eyes narrowing. He had never been penned up that way and he _wouldn’t_ be . . . especially since there _was_ no rule about leaving the Uchiha compound. Alone or not.

Were Tajima to forbid it without special permission . . . Indra thought of a lifetime of wandering and freedom, and then of what awaited him outside the compound walls, and his jaw set with tense irritation.

“You are strong, my son,” Tajima said, resting a hand on his shoulder, “but I _do_ worry. Particularly when you go alone and telling no one, and we’ve no idea where you’ve gone. If you were to cross paths with an enemy nin . . . well, perhaps you would indeed be well,” he smiled at Indra, and he suspected it was supposed to be _proud_, to make Indra happy his father thought so well of his abilities; he chafed at it, “but it is a concern.”

“I’ve never had trouble when I leave. Or been delayed returning.” Indra said pointedly. “Nor,” he added, arching an eyebrow, “did I have an issue with it when I wandered freely.” He leaned hard on the reminder of his life prior to joining his father’s clan here.

“You _have_ crossed paths with other nin, however.” Tajima said, and it was _not_ a question. Indra swallowed, not allowing any other reaction to show. “It is lucky, my son, that you are safe . . . thus far. I cannot allow this to continue.” he smiled slightly, and Indra tensed, eyes narrowing; he would _not_ be forbidden- “Until you are _safe_, you will remain here; I will not allow your . . . _dalliance_ the opening to strike you, or us.”

“_Fath-_” Indra choked, all the air suddenly gone from his lungs and his vision blackening as cold metal slid over his skin - it felt like every worst winter Indra had ever lived through concentrated on the flesh of his wrists, and he cried out, or thought he did.

“I don’t wish to hurt you, my son,” Tajima said, from very far away, the shape of him beginning to filter into Indra’s vision again, leaning over him where he sprawled on the floor, whimpering, “but I will not allow anyone to cause you harm . . . even if it means upsetting you this way. You will stay until I am sure you will be sensible. You are my son, and I will protect you.”

Indra spat a curse but his tongue tangled and he choked, struggling to breathe. He felt- He felt blind and strangled and _dying by inches_, the air he could feel rushing over his lips not seeming to fill his lungs, his skin throbbing with a thousand stinging needles’ points, his head throbbing, his chakra. . .

Indra wanted to _scream_ but he couldn’t quite figure out his voice or his throat or his _lungs_, and he wanted to sob but he couldn’t even cry.

“You’ll be safe, my son, and this will be better.” Tajima said, and Indra thought he might have touched Indra’s brow, but the world was fading black as Indra tried to move, and he lost any sense of his father’s words or actions along with everything else.

When Indra woke he was tucked away in his own room, resting in his futon with his - excessive, Madara claimed - pillows tucked into a heap beneath his head and shoulders. It was, no doubt, to make him comfortable.

Every inch of Indra’s body _screamed_ with pain, his chakra twisting up within his coils as his chakra sense, which he _always_ poured a bit of energy into maintaining, and had since he was a child, failed to draw on his chakra, failed to spread, failed to do _anything_. He clutched his head, whimpering, and curled into a ball in his futon.

_Comfortable_ was a far-off impossibility, he thought, in a thin, pained thread.

It took him a long, long time to carefully draw back the instinctive pulse that shunted chakra to his all of his senses, and above all to that one nebulous sense that brought him the world painted in bright life and sparking waves of chakra. When he finally did, the pain ebbed, though he still ached dully and his head spun, thick as though it had been stuffed with honey.

He made it no further for some time, lying on his side in his futon, his body both throbbing and numb, his mind slow and thick and dull. Indra was vaguely aware something was _wrong_, but he couldn’t _think_.

Chakra. His . . . chakra. Was. . .

Indra thoughtlessly pushed it outwards to cycle it through his system, and nearly screamed as it built and then jammed, going nowhere. He couldn’t direct it to his senses, and he couldn’t send it outwards, couldn’t _use_ it at all, and his sensing was . . . dead.

Indra turned his face into his pillow, cold and wet with tears. He shuddered, rubbing clumsily at his wrists where the heavy binds were locked. He could _see_ the seals carved into them, but they felt featureless to his fingers, from the carvings to the lock to the hinges, all smooth and impossible to manipulate.

There was a soft sound as the door was slid open, and Indra could barely gather the energy to care, let alone to look up and see who it was there. Though if it was his father. . .

“Indra-nii. . . It’s Izuna. . .”

Indra whimpered a bit as he twisted to look at the door, and his baby brother slipped silently inside. “Izu-kun. . .” he said weakly, his own voice strange and faltering to his ears.

“Hello, Indra-nii.” Izuna said softly, coming to his side and kneeling. “Came to see you. . . I have tea if you’ll drink it. . .”

“Izuna. . .” Indra repeated dully, shifting a bit and clinging to Izuna’s knee. “Izuna I-” He keened suddenly, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Indra-nii! Oh thank fuck, you’re actually- Are you all right?” Izuna interrupted himself, brushing his fingers over Indra’s brow, feathering his fringe aside.

Indra laughed brokenly, falling into sobs.

“Oh I’m sorry. . .” Izuna said hurriedly, shifting to cradle Indra against himself. “Of course- Of course you’re not. But it’s. . . It’s been days since you were. . .”

“_Days?_” Indra repeated, shoving himself upright. He flinched, body aching and a little stiff simply from lying motionless for so long.

“You’ve been awake, sometimes, in little bits, but. . .” Izuna looked miserable and fretful, his eyes wide and damp. “I was so worried. . . _We_ were so worried.” His eyes dropped to Indra’s wrists at the same moment as Indra’s own.

Indra whined, slamming one wrist into the floor. The solid metal dug into his wrist - it still felt powerfully cold, and far heavier than it should - and dug a scar into the tatami with a hollow sound against the wood beneath, but there was no other effect.

“. . .yes.” Izuna said, rubbing one hand over Indra’s forearm above the metal. “I don’t understand- And what Aniki said. . . About these. . . How Father could. . .”

Indra _snarled_, slamming his fist into the floor this time.

Izuna moved to hug him, arms catching him as he swayed from the exertion. “I’m so sorry, Indra-nii.” Izuna said, nestling their cheeks together. “_So_ sorry.”

Indra fell into weak sobs on his brother’s shoulder, nerveless fingers twisting into Izuna’s shirt as he murmured occasionally.

Indra thought of his lover, heart wrenching and stomach knotting. Indra couldn’t reach out to try to find him, not now . . . and he had been expecting Indra _days ago now_. Indra pulled at Izuna’s shirt, head bowing even lower as he sobbed wretchedly.

“Father- Father told us-” Izuna’s voice faltered and Indra would have growled if he had the energy. Izuna rubbed his back. “You’ve been . . . meeting someone outclan. Alone. Not telling anyone, even _us_ \- not me, and Madara said. . .”

Indra whined, shaking.

“He shouldn’t have- It isn’t safe, you can’t _trust_ them, and if you wouldn’t even tell us I think you know that - you’re smart, Indra-nii - but _this is_-” Izuna hugged him harder. “Father won’t listen. Not yet. But we’ll _make_ him, Indra-nii. I promise. This is _wrong_.”

Indra wished he had the coordination to hug his baby brother properly in response.

Izuna kept his firm, gentle embrace around Indra, even when he nudged him and asked if he would take the tea, and Indra nodded. He needed help; his hands were shaking, his muscles weak and his vision splotchy. He still ached all through.

Izuna didn’t say anything, though his face was twisted with distress and anger as he helped Indra to sip his tea.

Izuna stayed for what felt like a long time, and Indra felt a little better both for the contact - with his senses deadened and his head muddled he felt very alone in his room, even without thinking of his lover looking for him, _worrying_ for him - and the tea.

The time after Izuna left stretched out in a blank, aching expanse, however, the positive effects of his visit ebbing away.

His brothers came and went, spending what time with him they could, especially Izuna, and Indra was afraid to ask how long it had been - he couldn’t keep track himself, between the fuzzy uncertainty of his own thoughts and the long spaces of nothing but blankness. He was still missing large parts of those first few days, and he thought he might have lost more since. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

He rubbed his thumb over the smooth handle of the uchiwa he held, lips twitching and heart aching, the memory of his lover’s warm and so rarely heard laughter echoing in his mind. The look of mischief and _love_ on his face when he had pressed the uchiwa into Indra’s hands, watching him unwrap it to reveal the lightning storm over a wild ocean . . . painted on an uchiwa.

Something that would only be painted as a cheery decoration, Indra had thought, in Uzushio, but he loved it. Loved the painted scene and the gift and the laughter and. . .

Indra closed his eyes, breath catching. How long had he left his lover waiting, he wondered? How long _had_ he waited, that day? Was he searching for Indra? Could he _feel_ him, even with his chakra bound like this?

“Indra-nii.” Madara said softly, almost ghosting through the door and sliding it closed behind himself.

“Mada-kun.” Indra said dully, not moving. He hurt too much to move, had tried again to batter against the restraint of the bindings he wore and his chakra throbbed painfully in reaction, a sensation that made all his other aches pale in comparison.

Madara came to him and wound an arm around his shoulders, drawing him in with a gentle pressure, hugging him tight. “I’m here to help you.” he said, and Indra laughed, thin and sharp. “Oh, Indra-nii. I’m sorry.” he said softly, rocking them both and pressing his brow to Indra’s temple.

Indra laughed again, thin and weak and miserable, face nestled in his brother’s wild hair. He was glad of Madara’s presence, glad his brothers had been here so much, but. . .

“Let me. . .” Madara’s hand, broad and callused but smooth, slid over his arm, nudging his sleeve up and brushing over the icy metal locked around his wrist. Indra whined at the shift of the metal against his skin; it ached, but it _always_ ached. His skin was unblemished beneath the cuff, but it _felt_ raw.

Sometimes Indra thought he would see blood dripping down his fingers or up his arm from beneath the metal. Sometimes he looked down and was surprised not to see bare, bloody bone.

Madara clasped his hand and his arm, the warm touch soothing, though it also hurt a little. Indra leaned heavily against his brother and let him do what he wanted, though he could hardly really help. Not with what their father had done, the binds he had sealed upon Indra.

Indra jolted upright, lightning racing beneath his skin with a rush of stabbing pain. He jerked and twisted in on himself, blood racing and molten, wrists on _fire_, his chakra wild as it lashed within him. Indra choked as he gasped a deep breath, the world painted in bright colours and fading out of his grasp in sickeningly quick turns.

“Oh fuck. _Fuck_, fuck, fuck.” Madara chanted, dragging Indra towards him with more force and pressing his shoulder against Indra’s face, stifling his scream as he thrashed, every muscle in his body locking up and twitching.

Madara held him until it ebbed a little, and Indra realised he had all but sunk his teeth into his brother’s shoulder through his shirt. He drew back, aching from crown to toes, and smiled weakly at Madara, who looked rather mussed and a little the worse for wear himself.

“Are you all right?” Madara asked, eyes wide, searching Indra’s face and darting down over his body, hands coming up to brush along his legs, arms, sides. . . “Are you-”

“_Madara._” Indra said breathlessly, and dragged his brother into an embrace, ignoring his hurts. He could _feel_ Madara’s concern, too; it hurt like running on a broken bone but he could feel the ripple of concern, the sparking flare of alarm, the quiet, searing heat of fury. . . All of it twined in Madara’s powerful, warm chakra. _He could feel it._ Indra wanted to cry. _Was_ crying, his face wet from the pain and shock and _relief_. “You- You broke- You. . .”

“It was _wrong_, Indra-nii.” Madara said, muffled into Indra’s hair. “It was wrong to keep you from the one you love at all, but to do it like this. . . I _told_ father he had no idea what it must be like for you, being trapped inside them. . .” He cupped Indra’s cheek as they drew apart a little.

Indra stroked his brother’s cheek and clasped his shoulder, resting their brows together. “I love you, otouto. _Thank you._”

Madara smiled crookedly, butting his brow gently against Indra’s. “You know I’d do anything for my brothers.” he said softly. “For my family.”

Indra’s smile widened, then faltered. _Family._ His stomach turned. And then-

Indra clung to Madara to steady himself and flung his senses out as far and as hard as he could reach, pouring chakra into them. It _hurt_ like fury, and the effort nearly knocked him flat, gasping and head spinning, unable to sit up without Madara’s support, but he _found his lover_. Powerful chakra quiescent but not truly calm, and far outside the boundaries of his own clan’s compound.

“I have to- Go- He’s waiting- Or not _waiting_, but he’s there and I. . .” Indra stumbled over his words, wavering as he tried to pull away from Madara.

“Easy, Indra-nii.” Madara soothed, rubbing his back and easing him down onto his futon. “I think you need to rest a bit before you take off running.” He paused, expression twisting and crumpled. “I- I knew you-” He took a deep breath and let it out again, eyes closed. “I knew you would go. While you rest . . . what do you want to take with you? I- I can get a pack ready for you. So you can-” he faltered.

Indra reached out with one shaky hand - _free and unbound_, thanks to his brother - and clasped Madara’s wrist. “Thank you, otouto.” he said again, and Madara squeezed his hand, then brushed a light caress over his brow, nodding.

Indra settled back with a heavy breath and Madara rose, locating Indra’s travel pack quickly. Indra talked a little and Madara filled in the rest as he went, moving quietly around Indra’s room, packing efficiently for him . . . so he could _go_. He. . .

He wouldn’t be back. He didn’t know where he would go, beyond seeking out his lover, but he _could not_ remain with his father’s clan - with his _father_. But. . .

Indra accepted the pack from his brother and dropped it, hugging Madara tightly. “Otouto, I do love you.” he said softly, and Madara laughed softly, a little wet.

“I love you, Indra-nii. I’m glad you’re free.” Madara said, swallowing thickly as he drew back. “I hope he loves you the way you deserve. Whoever he is.”

Indra smiled. “He does.” He pressed the gifted uchiwa into Madara’s hands, watching his brother blink with startlement, looking at it. “I _will_ be back. Not. . . Not now. But I _will_ return. For you.” he promised, and stroked Madara’s cheek. “My brothers. I don’t know. . . But if I can, I’ll write. I’ll _find_ you.” He paused. “Tell Izuna. . .”

“I will.” Madara said after a moment when Indra wasn’t sure how to finish that. “We’ll miss you, but I understand.”

Indra hugged his brother once more, then reclaimed his pack before slipping out of his room to make his way, quick and silent, first out of the house and then out of the compound entirely. By the time he cleared the outermost wall he was running, the world a shadowy blur around him, his attention fixed on the cool ocean of faintly turbulent chakra ahead, through the spiking pain of using his sensing ability.

It took him some hours of running, but his target wasn’t moving. Not much, anyway. Not _away_, not making it harder to track him, not going anywhere. Indra drove himself on, though he could have used more rest than he’d taken. He was able to run, to move, to use his senses - to channel his chakra.

It was hard to resist the impulse to let it out in a crackling wave, to call lightning from the sky, to let it spark over his skin in a pure expression of the fierce freedom he once more had. Indra kept it contained, though, tight beneath his skin.

And then-

Indra couldn’t stop himself, breath rushing in his chest as he dropped his pack and threw himself straight out of his headlong run at his lover. They both went down with the force of his lunge, tumbling onto the ground before his pack landed.

Tobirama cried out, eyes wide, and Indra wanted to speak, to explain or apologise or ask for reassurance himself, but he couldn’t even shape his lover’s name. He clung hard, hard enough he knew it must be hurting Tobirama, but he didn’t protest or even flinch, raising his hands to Indra and burying them in his hair, sliding over his shoulders and down his back.

“_Indra!_” Tobirama’s arms tightened, almost crushing, his chakra bucking free of his control in a powerful wave tinged with near-mad relief and need and an edge that was almost grief. “Indra, _fuck_, darling, love, you’re here, you’re- Are you all right? Your chakra feels . . . it’s barely _there_, I couldn’t feel you until- Indra?”

Indra sobbed roughly and pressed his cheek to Tobirama’s, realising only as the wetness slid across his skin that Tobirama was _crying_. “I’m here.” he managed. “Storm-heart, you- I- I needed you so much.” he said, which wasn’t at all what he’d intended.

Tobirama made a broken little sound and twisted, curling their bodies together as he pressed his nose against Indra’s cheek and then nuzzled closer, rubbing as their cheekbones bumped.

“I’m sorry.” Indra breathed, ragged and broken. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t want- I couldn’t-” His voice broke and he clung to Tobirama hard.

“Tell me later.” Tobirama said, rubbing Indra’s back and holding him close, nuzzling their noses together and sniffling just a little, his eyes glittering beautifully in the moonlight, his lashes spiky and wet with tears like melting frost. “You’re _here_.” He kissed Indra softly, needy but gentle.

Indra’s fingers combed through his hair, then roamed his back, and Indra returned the kiss clumsily, a little harder. He didn’t know what would happen next, or where he would go; he didn’t know if Izuna would understand why he left or if his father would try to send people after him; he didn’t know if his chakra would return to normal or ever lose the jumpy, taut, painful feeling it had now.

But he was wrapped up in his lover’s arms once more, safe and free.

Indra rested his brow against Tobirama’s. “I love you, storm-heart. I had to come to you.”

“I love you, darling.” Tobirama said softly, gently stroking Indra’s hair and back, shifting them sideways until they rested more comfortably, still twined together.

And uncertain as he still was in almost every respect, all was right in Indra’s world once more.

**Author's Note:**

> . . .what happens next, of course, is that Tobirama takes Indra home with him, introduces him by his mother's clan name, and keeps him. Hashirama is shocked and supportive and delighted. (Though he does want to know what happened when he finds Indra crying on Tobirama's shoulder later that night.) Butsuma is surprised and pleased when Tobirama turns (even more) vicious and terrifying in battle, particularly against the Uchiha. (Izuna, one day, will be rather sulky when he realises the only reason he is still alive is because Tobirama essentially gifted Indra his brothers' lives.)
> 
> When Tajima dies Madara will send Indra word, and they will finally all meet. Either by Indra bringing Tobirama with him to the Uchiha compound, or at the first peace talks. ;)


End file.
